Three Little Big Words
by jeromevaleska
Summary: Jerome has trouble saying I love you.


From the moment you first laid eyes on the ginger, you knew he was trouble, and yet you could not seem to look away. He had a strange kind of magnetism that held you captive, his cold fingers gripped tightly around your heart, squeezing for all they were worth until your chest ached with longing and your breath caught in your throat. You were aware of the consequences of getting involved with him, but you couldn't resist and turn away from it all.

It was not until you joined the Maniax that you realized just how much trouble he really was. The man was cruel, merciless, his temper quicker than a bullet and hotter than boiling lava. He truly was a demon to the city of Gotham, but none more so than he was in bed. When you finally became a them, he tried to show you instead of saying it. But still he couldn't say those three words, you hoped one day he would.

He can't say I love you, but he thinks you know anyway. It's the cause of falling too hard too fast and all of his life up until this point being stuck with loveless parents.

But he knows it's different with you, that you genuinely care for him. It showed in the way you spoke to him and how you never left his side, even with death and blood always following him.

You would always tell him that you loved him, but his response was always a laugh and a knowing smile. You said it so he knew but also because you longed to hear it right back, but every time you never did.

He can't say I love you, yet he tells you to stay close to him every time the police officers are shooting in your direction. He can't say I love you, yet every time you did something that he approved of, he would call you his girl. Or when you went off to handle a matter on your own and he would tell you to be careful, and that he trusted you. Or how he would steal flowers or any expensive jewelry he could get his hands on just for you. You would always wear the tiara he brought you and you could never forget how he presented it to you so theatrically, he even called you his queen when he placed it upon your head.

You proved time and time again that you would never leave him, even when he had his hands tight around the base of your neck, nearly choking you because you did something he specifically order you not to. What frightened you a little was how you would probably use your last dying breath to tell him you loved him again, just so he knew before your body slid to the floor.

To the world, you were both monstrous, homicidal maniacs but there was more to you two underneath the surface than your notorious titles.

He brushes his lips against the pretty blush in your cheek and memorizes the way his name sounds sighed out beneath him in the stillness of your room, his palm pressed high against your thigh, your bare breasts brushing against his chest. He tries to show you, instead of saying the words. He doesn't fear death, he's more than aware that it could come to him any day with the path he chose, but he's afraid of those three little words, because they don't seem so little to him, and he just can't spit them out. Because then he would be forced to come to the realization of his true feelings for you so it was easier for him to try and pretend they didn't exist.

The first time you told him that you loved him, he knew what you were going to say the second before you said it. Your hair whipping at your shoulder, your eyes wide and resolute, your lips promising and yearning to be kissed by his, your forehead pressed to his, and your fingers laced together, tucking them against your heart.

"I love you," you whispered, blinking away the tears that threatened to come pouring. He didn't say it back, there's a long silence in the air before he cracked up laughing, so with a sad little curve of your lips you ended up laughing with him. You remembered him saying, "Of course you do, doll, who doesn't?"

Because there was nothing more contagious than laughter, he was definitely right about that.

The first night he took you to his bed you were surprised, needless to say. He seemed not to show an interest in women at the time, or pursuing sexual pleasure at all. Looking back, though, there was a connection from the start that neither of you could deny. Your moans and gasps echoing in the darkness, his teeth and fingers leaving dark bruises against your flesh.

Similar nights followed, all filled with pain and pleasure, and afterward he would simply turn away and fall asleep, leaving you to your thoughts, and often, your tears. You wanted to hear him say it, at least just once, and then he wouldn't have to ever again. You needed it, after all the times you never heard it back.

But tonight was different.

"Fuck," he growled as he finished, breaths coming in short pants. His auburn hair fell into his eyes, plastered to his scalp and face with sweat. He did not move from you, his hands still clamped tightly around your body, head nestled in the crook of your neck.

His weight bore down on you, but it was a pleasant weight, warm and filled with an intimacy you had never shared with him before. It surprised and bewildered you, but you were not about to complain.

"You're really somethin', gorgeous." he mumbled.

Taking a chance, you hesitantly relaxed your fingers from where they had been moments before clawing at his shoulder blades, and trailed them upward to entangle in his hair, stroking gently at the auburn locks. He tensed slightly at the unfamiliar touch and raised his head to catch your eye. His eyes seemed to soften as he looked at you. Not even a cruel smirk played at the corner of his lips. This was the face of the ginger you had longed to see; vulnerable with just a hint of affection.

You offered him a small smile and you thought you saw the corners of his mouth twitch before he seemed to catch himself and rolled off you. But instead of turning away as he usually did, he propped himself on his arm and laid beside you, watching your face curiously. His eyes trailed down your body and came to rest on the numerous marks that littered your skin.

"I didn't get too carried away now, did I?" his tone was gruff as he laughed.

You shook your head and giggled before you replied, "No, I'm all yours, remember? So I don't mind having the marks to prove it," you heaved a soft sigh and added, "Besides, I know you enjoy inflicting pain on others."

He shifted closer, examining your face with a small smile. "True, but that's not why I leave those marks on you. Like you said, you're mine."

You laughed quietly before you rolled on your side so that you weren't facing him now.

"Don't turn away, look at me, Y/N." he blurted suddenly, you were shocked into silence for a moment because he usually used pet names when addressing you. You eyed the man before you with confusion, blinking in surprise.

"I'm listening," you said softly.

"I want you to stop crying at night when you think I'm asleep and after we..." he trailed off, rubbing the back of his head, "I want you to know that this isn't just fucking to me, it's more than that."

You stared at him with wide eyes, reeling from his confession, but he wasn't finished.

"You're my girl," he said the last words in a whisper and leaned in close, his hand creeping around to gently cup the back of your head, tentatively tilting your face towards his. You could see the indecision in his eyes and so you helped him meeting him halfway.

You nodded in response and he leaned in to press his warm lips against yours, though this kiss was different from all the others. His lips were gentle against your own, tender and careful as if wary he might hurt you. You relished the sensation, hands reaching out to pull him closer, more forcefully against your mouth. When he pulled back, his pale face had a soft hue of pink on his cheeks. He started trailing his fingers down your cheek and neck, brushing over your shoulder and pausing to rest at the marks that encircled your upper arm.

You shuddered as his thumb touched the tender, discolored flesh, before his hand trailed down to massage your aching wrists. He brought your hands to his mouth, breath pleasantly cool against your skin, and his eyes never leaving yours. He kissed the marks, softly so as not to cause you any pain.

"You'll always be mine, right?" he said, his voice earnest, almost desperate.

"Yes, always," you replied with a smile. He leaned in for another kiss, taking you by surprise, and he held the back of your head tightly with a hand to keep you from pulling away. You two stayed like that for a while, with your mouths kissing every corner and curve they could reach.

When he finally pulled back from your parted lips, he gazed into your eyes with his heavily lidded ones, inhaling deep through his nose, his chest heaving and his hand caressing your soft cheek with his fingers.

"I love you," he whispered, and it was so low that you almost didn't hear it, but you kept your eyes locked on his mouth the entire time and you were sure of what came out of it.

You smiled, just a bit, a lazy curl of your lips as your fingers sunk into his hair and you shifted to rest your chin upon his chest, meeting his gaze.

"I love you too," you answered, the words coming out of your mouth without even having to think about it, and you sighed in contentment. Those three words were the only thing you ever needed from him, and now you finally felt like you were undoubtedly his girl.


End file.
